A KickAss Christmas
by pgrabia
Summary: When House is late getting home from the hospital on Christmas Eve, Wilson and Kenny have a different kind of Christmas. Based on my fic The Law of House.  H/W slash, rel. est. Don't like? Don't read. No real spoilers.  Some coarse language.


**Title: ****A Kick-Ass Christmas**

**Author:** pgrabia

**Word Count:** 8506

**Pairings/Characters:** House/Wilson slash, established; Kenny; Cuddy, Chase, Thirteen and Foreman'

**Category(ies):** Drama, help/comfort, sick!House, family, fluff.

**Rating: PG-13**

**Warnings:** Involves graphic descriptions of wounds and injuries; minor coarse language.

**A/N:** This is a holiday sequel for my story **The Law of House** and takes place in that AU. If you haven't read that story, you may want to do so before reading this for a little background, though I don't think it's absolutely necessary. I wanted to get this out yesterday but didn't make it. So I'm rushing it out today. If there are errors it's because I didn't use a beta. Sorry.

**~H/W~**

Kenny reached up with one of his six year old arms to place the red ball ornament onto one of the top branches of the tree. It was the last one to go on.

"Got it, James," he said with a grin. Wilson grinned back and lowered the blond-haired child to the floor.

"You're beginning to get heavy," the oncologist told his adopted son.

"Greg says it's from your good cooking," the child replied, rubbing his abdomen exactly like his other adopted father did when he sat on the sofa after dinner, "but I'm not supposed to tell you that he says you're a good cook. Oops."

"Don't worry," Wilson assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder, and pulling him close to him, "I won't rat you out. I already know he likes my cooking."

"How?"

"Because he eats so much of it," Wilson replied.

The two of them looked at the tree. It was a real pine which House, Kenny and he had gone out to find at a nearby tree lot. It had full green boughs that smelled wonderful and fresh. He and Kenny had decorated it on Wilson's day off so when his spouse came home from the hospital they could surprise him. Somehow, Wilson wasn't satisfied with the way it looked, though. Oh, the lights sparkled wonderfully and the ornaments were beautiful-an early Christmas gift from House's mother who told her son and son-in-law that they had to celebrate Christmas the proper way this year for her grandson's sake. Wilson's mother had said the same thing about Hanukkah. To please both sides of their unconventional family, they were celebrating both this year. As a family the three of them had gone to visit Wilson's parents for a week to celebrate with them. Kenny had been a hit with Grandpa Jacob and Grandma Evelyn and had gotten along well with Uncle David, his wife Judy and their three kids. Kenny had enjoyed the presents most of all—well, the presents and Grandma Evelyn's potato latkes.

The oncologist had been thrilled that after the shock of finding out their son was gay (well, bisexual actually but his mother had difficulty wrapping her mind around that) and marrying his best friend who had been the worst best man possible at their son's second and third weddings, his parents had come around and had made an effort to accept his relationship with House and their adoption of a blond-haired, green-eyed little gentile. After spending the week with them they had bonded with Kenny and were actually calling House 'Greg' again instead of 'Hey you' and 'the jerk'. It had been a start and even House had shown remarkable patience with them; he'd been on his best behavior. For that Wilson had indulged House's fantasies without complaining or trying to edit them for the entire week following—after Kenny was in bed, of course.

"What about the garland?" Kenny spoke up, cocking his head from one side to another when looking at the tree—just like Wilson was doing.

_That's what's missing_, Wilson realized. He remembered from years long past his third wife Julie and late girlfriend Amber trimming their trees with the sparkly strands. Unfortunately they didn't have any and Wilson didn't want to battle the line-ups on Christmas Eve just for that.

"I'm afraid we don't have any, kiddo," Wilson told him with a sigh.

"No problem," Kenny assured him confidently. "All we need is some string, a needle, popcorn and hard cranberries or red beads to make one. I learned how in Art Class, at school. Do we have that stuff?"

"I think we just might," the oncologist told his son with a nod, "but I don't have time to make one with you right now. I still have to bake the Christmas cookies for Santa Claus and some extra ones for us."

"That's okay," Kenny told him. "I'll make the popcorn garland while you bake the cookies."

So that's what they did, after cleaning up the ornament boxes and putting them away, of course. Wilson was determined to teach the child good habits in spite of his spouse modeling bad ones. Wilson baked sugar cookies cut out into Christmas shapes like bells, stars, candy canes and reindeer. Kenny sat at the kitchen table with a large darning needle (properly advised on how to use it safely), string and a bowl of popcorn. They hadn't had dried whole cranberries or red beads on hand so Wilson had poked holes through hard jujubes he found in the back of the cabinet. The boy strung the popcorn and candy, alternating the pattern with four kernels of popcorn to every jujube. Those kernels that fell apart in the process ended up in his stomach. Wilson hid a smile when he saw how careful and meticulous the first grader was; Kenny had the tip of his tongue protruding from his mouth as he concentrated. Some of his facial expressions as he worked were carbon copies of House's expressions when he puzzled over his medical mysteries at work.

Once the cookies were baked and the garlands strung Wilson and Kenny hung the popcorn strings on the tree then stood back again to appraise their handiwork.

"Perfect," Kenny announced with a satisfied nod.

"I quite agree," Wilson said, nodding as well. It truly was the finishing touch.

"When is Greg gonna be home?" Kenny asked, frowning impatiently. "I can't wait 'til he sees how great our tree looks."

"Soon, honey," Wilson told him, although he was beginning to wonder the same thing. It was six o'clock and the last time he'd talked to House he had no case and would make an effort to leave at five; if he'd been able to do that he should have been home already. Perhaps he'd stopped to pick up something last minute or got snagged by Cuddy to work in the clinic. There was also the possibility that a case had turned up after they had spoken. Wilson really hoped that wasn't what had happened—he knew that House wouldn't come home until a case was solved, which meant he wouldn't be around for Kenny's first Christmas with them.

"Why don't you go wash your hands?" Wilson suggested, trying to be upbeat. "Dinner is almost ready."

"Okay," Kenny agreed reluctantly and dragged his feet the entire way to the bathroom.

While he was out of the room the oncologist called House's office line but there was no answer and the hospital switchboard automatically transferred him to voicemail. Wilson hung up and tried his husband's cellphone number instead. Again there was no answer. That made him frown. No answer at his office meant he was out and possibly in the clinic or driving home. No answer from his cellphone was another matter entirely. Concerned Wilson dialed PPTH's main number and inquired about House's whereabouts. He'd signed out at four-thirty, nearly an hour and a half ago.

Now Wilson was beginning to feel anxious. It had snowed earlier that morning nicely covering the black ice on the pavement underneath. Driving conditions were treacherous in some areas of Princeton. He tried not to jump ahead of things and picture House injured in a smashed up car somewhere between the hospital and the loft, but he couldn't help himself. He knew how the diagnostician liked to speed both on his motorcycle and in his car; speed and ice didn't mix well at all.

Going to the window he looked out at the street that went past their building. Snow what still coming down from the grey, overcast sky and the moderate wind was managing to create drifts. That didn't help ameliorate his mood one little bit.

"Finished," Kenny announced as he returned from the bathroom, holding his hands up like a surgeon who had just scrubbed up for surgery and awaited having gloves slipped onto his hands.

"Inspection time," Wilson told him with a small smile trying to push his morbid thoughts to the back of his mind and focus on Kenny. He pretended to examine the boy's hands very carefully before nodding his approval and smiling. "I guess it'll pass. Come on, let's eat and Greg can eat when he gets home."

**~H/W~**

By the time dinner was eaten, the food was put away in the fridge, and the dishes were washed and put away House still hadn't made it home. Wilson didn't know if he should feel angry or worried. Kenny was getting tired and before long he would have to have his bath and then go to bed. Without the boy's storyteller there to read to him he wouldn't sleep very well. Wilson tried calling the hospital and House's cell again to no avail. His next call was to Cuddy.

"I haven't seen or heard from him since about three o'clock this afternoon," she told him with the sound of happy laughter from Rachel and hungry cries from Gregory (her infant son, named after House in thanks for delivering the baby in an emergency pre-mature birth in the middle of a severe thunderstorm; the streets had been flooded and the wind had nearly torn the roof off of Cuddy's house). "I know he threatened me with civil disobedience if I gave him a case or made him work in the clinic today. He seemed excited to get home to be with you and Kenny tonight—well, excited House-style."

"Did he say anything about having to stop somewhere to pick something up?" Wilson asked her, his nerves raw.

"No, he didn't," she answered, sounding a little worried herself now. "Maybe he got caught in traffic," she suggested. "On the news they said that traffic is barely moving on the expressways because of the fresh snow and fender benders."

_Or maybe his car left the road, rolled down a steep embankment and he's slowly dying in the cold…_

Wilson shook his head as if trying to shake that morbid thought out of his head. It was still too soon to worry excessively—or at least of that is what he tried to convince himself.

"Thanks anyway, Lisa," he told her, his voice quavering slightly. "You're probably right."

Cuddy wasn't fooled by his attempt to hide his growing anxiety. "James, House is like a cat—he has nine lives."

"Yes," he replied, "but what if he's on the last one?"

"Call me when you hear from him, will you?" she told him. "And try to relax for Kenny's sake if you won't do it for yourself."

Wilson smiled a little and took a deep breath. "I will. You and the kids are still coming over for dinner tomorrow night, aren't you?"

"Yes we are—Rachel is looking forward to seeing _her_ Kenny again."

"Great. I'll talk to you later. Bye." Wilson said.

"Bye," she replied, hanging up. Wilson replaced the receiver onto the cradle of the phone base.

"Is Greg in danger?" a small voice said from behind him. Wilson spun around. He hadn't heard Kenny re-enter the room but there he was, looking small and scared. The oncologist cursed himself for not being more careful to keep anything about there being something wrong from the child. Kenny had been through so much in his six years of life, including being abused by his parents and nearly killed three times in the same year; if it hadn't been for House's instincts and fondness for his small patient Kenny wouldn't be alive, healthy, and their son now.

Both he and House adored the boy, although Greg was slightly less verbal about his feelings; he made up for that by the way he did things for and with Kenny that Wilson had never dreamed the older man would. Their son had softened what once had been a very frozen part of the diagnostician's heart, but one would never know it from the way House behaved outside of their circle of three. Wilson kind of liked it that way—it made him feel like he and Kenny were part of an extremely special and privileged club. He knew that Kenny loved both of them very much but there was a special bond between House and Kenny, a kindred spirit born from both of them knowing just how lonely and painful childhood could be with parents that were abusive and neglectful. Wilson didn't begrudge them that one little bit.

He also knew that if anything happened to House the boy would be devastated, and vice versa.

Wilson knelt next to the boy, holding his hands. "Greg is a little late getting home, so I called Auntie Lisa to see if she knew if he'd stopped to do a little shopping before he came home. She said she didn't know but traffic is very slow and he may be stuck in it. There's no reason to worry. Okay? I'm sure he'll be home before long. So what do you say you have your bath and get into your pajamas and then you and I will sit on the sofa and watch _Elf_ until he gets home?"

Kenny's face brightened. "I get to stay up late tonight?"

"Just tonight," Wilson confirmed with a conspiratorial wink.

"Okay!" the six-year-old said enthusiastically. They headed to the master bathroom. Wilson ran the water into the tub and squirted in the bubble bath that both of his 'boys' like to use—it smelled like strawberry shortcake. While the tub filled he went to Kenny's room and picked out a set of pajamas, briefs, and his slippers and grabbed a towel from the linen closet on his way back. He got Kenny set up in the tub and then left the door open while he laid on his and House's bed and read, keeping tabs on him.

"Don't forget to scrub behind your ears," Wilson told him, smiling to himself. "Or I'll plant some potatoes behind them."

"What are you going to plant behind Greg's ears?"

"Turnips," Wilson replied.

"But he hates turnips!" Kenny reminded him.

"I know," the oncologist agreed, turning a page in his book. "That's why I'm going to plant them there."

"My Grandma Baker used to plant turnips in her garden," the boy told him. "Then she'd boil them and make me eat them. Gross!"

"You're sounding more like Greg every day," Wilson announced, shaking his head.

He jumped a little when the phone rang; he picked up the extension on his bedside table, hoping it was House.

"Hello?"

"Hello," was the response. Wilson recognized the voice as Chase's. He wondered if a case had popped up and House was having one of his 'serfs' call him to let him know. "It's Robert Chase, Wilson."

"Merry Christmas," he wished the intensivist. "House isn't here right now."

There was a moment of hesitation before the response. "Wilson, he was just brought into the ER. There was a pile-up on the expressway…"

Wilson didn't hear a word Chase said after that. His fears had come true, at least in part and the world around him seemed to vaporize instantly. House was hurt. He had to get to the emergency room immediately.

"Wilson?" Chase said uncertainly. "Did you hear what I said?"

The oncologist forced himself to listen and attend to the voice on the other end of the phone. The truth was he hadn't.

"I-I'm sorry, Chase," Wilson apologized, "could you say that again?"

"Sure," he answered understandingly. "He was sandwiched between a pick up in front and a five-ton cube truck behind. The fire department had to cut him out of the car to get at him. He's currently being prepared for surgery. He has a closed head injury, and some shearing but the extent can't be determined until they open the cranium. He has three fractured ribs, two broken femurs, a ruptured spleen, lacerations of the upper bowel and mesentery, and injuries to his pancreas and liver. He's currently in critical and unstable condition."

It took everything Wilson had not to fall apart right then and there. He knew he couldn't—he had to remain in control for Kenny. "I'll be right down," he told the younger doctor, "as soon as I find someone to sit with Kenny."

"Uh, Wilson," Chase said carefully. "You may want to bring him along."

Wilson knew what that meant. He'd said it himself to a patient's spouse when his patient wasn't expected to survive and the children would have to say goodbye. His mind started to reel. No…no, it wasn't possible! It wasn't fair! He and House had just started their family after nearly two decades of denying themselves each other. Kenny needed Greg. He needed his husband. He wasn't ready to say goodbye yet!

"Right," Wilson acknowledged softly, blinking back tears. "We'll be there as soon as possible."

"Be careful, please," the intensivist warned him. "The roads are terrible."

"I will be." He hung up without a farewell, too preoccupied to think of it. _Hold it together!_ he told himself sternly. _You can't lose it—House and Kenny need you to be strong._

Quickly he got Kenny out of the bath and got him changed into a fresh t-shirt, sweater, jeans, and thermal socks.

"But I thought we were going to watch _Elf_!" Kenny protested as Wilson helped him get his boots on quickly and handed him his warm winter jacket. "Where are we going?"

In his panic Wilson didn't want to answer a bunch of question, but he realized that his son was a brilliant little boy, very much like House, and couldn't be put off for long. Taking a calming breath, Wilson knelt again to look at him at eye level.

"We're going to the hospital, Kenny," he explained cautiously, smoothing down his flaxen hair with a trembling hand. "Greg was driving home when he was in a car accident. He was taken to the hospital and the doctors there are taking good care of him. He has to have an operation so we're going to go so we can be there to visit Greg when he wakes up."

Kenny's eyes showed his fear again but otherwise the child appeared to be calm. His face was long and sad. "Is Greg going to die?"

Wilson swallowed hard to contain his emotions. He and House had both agreed that they would be honest with Kenny, even if the truth was sad or scary. They wanted to build a bond of trust with him, and lies would only prevent that from happening.

"I don't know," the oncologist told him, cupping the boy's face tenderly. "It depends how well his surgery goes. His doctors are very good and they're going to do everything they can to help Greg. It's not time yet to think about him dying, okay?"

Kenny nodded solemnly. "When it is time, will you tell me, James?"

Wilson tried but couldn't stop a tear from escaping his eye. "If it comes to be time, I promise I'll tell you."

Kenny wrapped his arms around Wilson and hugged him, gently patting the oncologist's back like Wilson often did to him when he was afraid or sad. The father pulled his son into a bear hug, struggling to keep from crying. He swallowed like crazy and took deep breaths before letting the boy go.

They finished getting bundled up and then headed to Wilson's car. The drive to PPTH seemed to take forever, what with the weather and numerous accidents slowing traffic the entire way. Neither of them said much, both lost in their own thoughts and worries. At one stand-still Wilson pulled out his cellphone and called Cuddy back, briefly filling her in, using medical jargon to protect Kenny from most of the gory details.

"Oh my god," the Dean of Medicine whispered. "Wilson, I'll get a hold of my emergency babysitter and I'll meet you at the hospital as soon as I can."

"No," he told her, shaking his head even though he knew she couldn't see him. "Lisa, the roads are treacherous. Stay home with your children and be safe. They need you. I'll keep you posted."

"Okay," she agreed begrudgingly. "You're right. Is Kenny with you?"

Sighing, Wilson replied, "Yeah. Chase thought it would be wise to bring him."

The Dean of Medicine caught the meaning in his message and wish all three of them luck before hanging up.

It took nearly an hour and a half to drive what normal took twenty minutes in the morning rush hour. He parked in House's handicapped spot since it was closer to the building. He picked up Kenny and carried him to get to the surgical unit as quickly as possible. Chase and Remy Hadley, A.K.A Thirteen were waiting for them there with news on what was happening with the diagnostician. Wilson knew it was serious when the female doctor took Kenny to the cafeteria for a hot chocolate while Chase and he spoke.

"He's still in surgery but Dr. Fields is just about to close," Chase informed him soberly. "He's done great throughout the procedures and his vitals have stabilized but he's still critical. When he's taken to recovery I'll come and get you. He's in a coma and as you know we can't with any accuracy determine if or when he'll wake up. The lacerations to the bowel and mesentery have been repaired and he'll be on a heavy course of antibiotics to prevent infection from setting in. His spleen had to be removed and his pancreas wasn't as badly damaged as it appeared in the x-rays taken in the ER. There were two major lacerations to his liver. They were repaired but a portion of the upper lobe had to be removed because it was too badly crushed to save. So far so good on that front. As for his two broken femurs, the right one was a compound fracture so there is concern over the possibility of infection. Fortunately there was no damage done to major blood vessels in either leg and they've been immobilized until he's strong enough for the orthopedic surgeons to properly deal with them."

"And the head injury?" Wilson asked anxiously, feeling nauseous.

"MRI showed a four centimeter temporal subdural hematoma. In the CT there appeared to be significant shearing but the MRI was clearer and showed that it was minimal. The neurosurgeon was able to easily make a burr-hole in the cranium and drain the hematoma. So far there appears to be no further bleeding. He inserted an ICP monitor to keep track of the swelling. There will likely be long term deficits but how severe is unknown until he wakes up and neuro exams can be conducted."

"What are his chances of surviving this?" Wilson asked, unable to speak louder than a murmur. "The truth, not the normal mumbo-jumbo you give the uninitiated."

Chase sighed wearily, looking down at his feet for a few moments before meeting Wilson's eyes again. "Currently…not good. I'd say thirty percent. If he survives the next twelve hours his odds improve to about sixty. If he makes it twenty-four, then his odds of survival go up to eighty-five. Of course, that's remaining clinically alive. There's no way to tell yet about how his brain will fair. I wish I had better news."

Wilson nodded in acknowledgement. "Thanks, Chase."

The intensivist nodded without satisfaction and squeezed the oncologist's shoulder in encouragement. "I'm going to return to the OR and see how things are going. I'll come and get you when he's out of there." Chase squeezed once more and then hurried back to the operating room. Wilson dragged himself to the waiting lounge and dropped into an armchair, feeling sick to his stomach and completely exhausted. His head was throbbing from the tension he felt and he hoped that it wouldn't become a migraine.

House had a thirty percent chance of living. Wilson had no idea how he was going to go on without him. Even before they had gone from best friends to adding 'and lovers' to that House had been the most important person in the world to him. They had a bond that other people couldn't seem to comprehend. If House died he'd take a piece of Wilson with him; and what of Kenny? The boy had already been devastated so many times. Losing House would set the boy back months in his emotional healing. House had never appreciated just how much he mattered to his family, that they needed him to hold their world together.

Wilson leaned forward in his seat and buried his face in his hands. He tried to recall a prayer he'd learned from his grandfather as a child. Some of the Hebrew came back to him, but it had been a very long time. Being an agnostic Wilson had prayed very little in his life; his parents had never been overly religious Jews, usually only darkening their temple's walls on high holy days and dragging their children along with them. Wilson couldn't remember the last time he'd gone to a service. Still, he wanted to cover all of his bases. If there was a God, and if He actually listened to the petitions of mortal man, Wilson was going to be certain he sent one—or several—on House's behalf. His atheist husband never had to know.

He had no idea how long he'd been sitting there when he felt a small hand rubbing the back of his neck. He made certain to wipe his face free of tears with his hands before he looked up at Kenny and tried to smile. He wasn't fooling his brilliant little boy, though.

"Don't cry, James," he whispered. "We can do this together." Wilson looked up at Thirteen, seeing her eyes glistening. He pulled Kenny close and held onto him desperately.

**~H/W~**

Wilson couldn't believe how frail his husband looked in the light of the recovery Room. House lay under a light blanket on a gurney at the far end of the room. His thinning chestnut and salt hair had been shaved off before surgery and his skin was nearly as white as the hospital linens he laid on. The lines on his face seemed deeper somehow, making him look much older than fifty-one. There were multiple lacerations on his face and scalp and most of his head was bandaged. The line from The ICP probe ran from his head, as did a drain. Black and purple bruises covered most of his ruggedly handsome face and the swelling made him appear almost unrecognizable. He was intubated and on a respirator, attached to a slew of different monitors. Three IV bags hung above him, tubes from them running down into a regulator pump and a PICC line in his arm. His hands were completely bandaged up. Those beautiful pianist's hands; Wilson found himself hoping that they weren't permanently damaged and then chastised himself. Better his hands were crippled but he was alive than his hands be in pristine condition but he was dead or so brain damaged that he was better off dead.

Leaning down the oncologist kissed his spouse on the forehead where it wasn't covered in layers of dressings. "I love you, Greg," he whispered against his skin and then took a seat in the chair that had been pulled up next to the gurney. He took one of House's hands, holding it gently in his own. Wilson was terrified looking at how broken physically the diagnostician was. He was there when House had been recovery from his near-death experiences due to the infarction, though he hadn't been there to prevent the fateful surgery that had been performed against House's expressed wishes while he was in a chemically-induce coma to withstand the agony that threatened to kill him entirely on its own. Even then Wilson hadn't felt so incredibly afraid.

"I know you've scoffed at the idea of talking to someone in a coma," Wilson said softly so as not to disturb the other patients in the room, "but I think it's more for the people who love them than for the coma patients. It gives us something to do when we can't do a damned thing to help the ones we love. It's lonely and frightening on this side of the equation, you know, not knowing if we'll ever have another conversation with you again. So many things I want to tell you—I don't know where to start.

"I guess I can sum it up by saying that you are the best thing that has ever happened to me in my entire life, Greg. I'm so sorry for all of the ways I hurt you in past, for all of the years I wasted trying to come to terms with who I am. I just got you—I'm not ready to let you go. Neither is Kenny. I know you have trouble believing it, but we both need you so much. We'll be lost without you. Please don't leave us. Please."

Of course there was no response from House at all in his vitals to indicate that he may have heard a word the oncologist had said. Wilson kissed the bandaged hand he held and closed his eyes. Whether or not he was actually praying no one knew for sure but him, and never told anyone.

**~H/W~**

Kenny was sleeping on a sofa in the waiting lounge. Thirteen sat next to his head, stroking his hair soothingly. She had had a nurse bring the boy a pillow and a blanket from a warmer. She looked up when Wilson finally returned. House had remained in recovery for an hour before he was packed up and transferred to the ICU. While that was happening the oncologist had come to check on his son.

"Wow," Wilson murmured, sitting down in a nearby armchair, "he actually went to sleep for you? How did you manage that?"

"All it took was a woman's touch," she answered softly with a smile. "Well, that and a little bit of feminine TLC. He was so tired and worried. Sometimes I think he's _too_ smart, Wilson."

He nodded in agreement. "Him and Greg both. I'm amazed at how much the two of them are alike for being genetically unrelated. Remy, thanks so much for keeping an eye on him tonight. I'm afraid I'm not as much of a comfort for him as he is for me right now."

Thirteen shook her head. "You're wrong. He told me about how brave you are and how you've made him feel better even though you both are afraid. He called House his dad and you his daddy and how lucky he is to be with you two. He told me that if House dies he'll miss him and that you and him will have to take care of each other." Her eyes were tearing up.

Wilson couldn't see her clearly due to his. He crouched down next to the sofa and kissed Kenny's forehead much like he had House's earlier.

"He's braver that most of the kids I meet here," Thirteen commented.

"That's what comes from being afraid and having to keep functioning in spite of it," Wilson told her. He sighed. "They're moving Greg into the ICU right now. You've done so much already, but could you do one more thing for me?"

Thirteen nodded. "What can I do?"

"Can you sit with him just a little while longer?" he asked. "I need to make a couple of phone calls. I promised Cuddy I would keep her posted on what's going on with Greg and I should let his mother know what's happened. I'll only be a couple of minutes."

"Well I don't know," she responded in mock uncertainty, looking down at the sleeping six-year-old, "He _is_ a hard one to take care of."

That made Wilson chuckle a little and he couldn't get over how good that felt. "I'll be certain to bring a leash and training manual next time," the oncologist joked, rising to his full height. "Thanks. I won't be long."

"Take your time," she told him. "Get a coffee, clear your head. We'll be hear when you get back."

Wilson went to make the calls.

When Wilson returned he found Kenny sitting up with his eyelids partially open however he could tell that the boy was still asleep.

"Right after you left he sat up and started talking to somebody named John, behaving like he was sleep-talking," Thirteen told him with a bewildered look on her face. "Do either you or House have a relative named John?"

Wilson looked back at her, just as confused. "Greg's dad's name was John—but he died over a year before Kenny was in the picture. Greg doesn't talk about his dad—they didn't exactly get along. He may have heard Greg's mother talk about him, though. What was he saying?"

"Who—Kenny or John?" House's fellow tried to clarify. Wilson rolled his eyes.

"Either, I don't care."

Smiling, Thirteen answered, "Kenny's side of the conversation kind of went like this. 'Who are you?...John?...you are? I'm related to Greg now, too…You know? How do you know?...Are you an angel?...He will?... Can I tell James that? It will make him happy…How did you know I prayed?...Greg doesn't believe in God…no he's not a heathen, he's an atheist 'cause he told me so himself…Okay, if you say Greg will get better then I guess I will have to wait and see. Good-bye, Grandpa John'. Talk about weird, huh? He still hasn't awakened and I didn't know whether I should bother trying. Does he talk in his sleep a lot?"

The oncologist frowned with concern. "No. He did that a lot right after he moved in with us. His child psychologist told us that it wasn't unusual after the trauma he'd been through and not to worry about it, that it should go away on its own and it did. Now it's back, I guess. It's probably due to the stress he's feeling right now over Greg. I hope it's not serious. Up till now he's been doing so well."

"We all get those kinds of dreams sometimes," Thirteen commented, shaking her head. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. He didn't seem to be in any kind of emotional distress—in fact, he seems more relaxed now than before it happened."

"Humph," Wilson vocalized with a shrug. "Who knows? Again, thanks Remy."

"My pleasure," she told him just before she left. Wilson stared at his child contemplatively. Was it possible that Kenny really was talking to John House's ghost? Usually he was very skeptical about anything concerning the supernatural but he liked to think of himself as open-minded enough not to immediately dismiss something out of hand. The part that got him to wondering the most was when this John seemed to tell Kenny that House was a heathen and Kenny had corrected him by calling the diagnostician an atheist. Wilson didn't know a lot about his husband's father but he knew enough to know that it was something that John House would have likely said.

Wilson shook his head and dismissed it. Carefully he lifted Kenny into his arms and carried him to the waiting lounge in Intensive Care; the boy was actually still underweight and small for his age due to the lack of nutrition and care he'd received over the years. Two of the three nurses at the desk there knew Wilson from their rotation in oncology so when they saw him carrying the blond-haired ragdoll they were immediately ooh-ing and aww-ing over him. Normally only adults were allowed in with ICU patients and then no more than two at a time but they made the exception with Kenny, giving Wilson the go ahead to take the child in with him.

The IC staff were just finishing up the move and situating House in the new environment when Wilson and Kenny arrived at House's tiny cubicle. There was a hospital-issue vinyl upholstered recliner and a straight back visitor's chair in the tiny room. Wilson carefully laid Kenny onto the recliner and covering him with his coat. Wilson pulled the hard chair up to House's bedside, close enough that he could lean forward and rest his head on the mattress if he really wanted.

The monitors beeped softly, the respirator hissed repetitively and Kenny snored softly. Wilson grabbed House's chart from where it had been placed in a holder at the end of the bed and began to go through it carefully. It told him nothing that Chase hadn't already. Grasping House's hand, Wilson eventually nodded off to sleep.

**~H/W~**

House beat the odds and made it through the first twelve hours in critical but stable condition, though he hadn't awakened from his coma. Cuddy had come up to the hospital Christmas Day to pick up Kenny and take him to stay with her for a couple of days. Wilson refused to go home until House was out of the worst. He showered in the doctor's locker room and put on a set of hospital-issue scrubs. The nursing staff really was great to him, making certain that he ate and drank and took breaks to get up and move around.

When the twenty-four hour mark came and went Wilson began to breathe a little easier. House could still die, but the odds of living were far in his favor. What wasn't good was the fact that he was still comatose and his intracranial pressure was holding at a level still high enough to warrant concern. The only thing that could possibly be worse was for House to survive but remain in a vegetative state for the rest of his life, or to be so brain damaged that he couldn't function independently anymore.

After forty-eight hours and no change Wilson's concern grew, but Chase was pretty much convinced that House was out of the woods life and death-wise. Cuddy brought Kenny in to visit with Wilson and brought him a change of clothes. House hadn't awakened but all fear had left the boy and he kept telling everyone he saw that Greg was going to get better and be fine. Wilson wanted nothing else but to be as confident about that as Kenny was.

Eighty-four hours later House was still in a coma but his Glasgow Coma Scale score rose from a three to a five. He was responding to pain, extending his arm and opening his eyes briefly, fluttering his eyelids. That was a huge improvement to before, when he showed absolutely no response to external stimuli.

When the dayshift nurses condemned what Wilson had been wearing as a biohazard they joked about taking them outside and burning them. At least he hoped that they were only kidding about that—one of the articles of clothing was his precious McGill sweater. Cuddy ordered him to go home, spend an evening with Kenny, eat real food, and get a good night's sleep; she promised to notify him should House's status change in the slightest. Wilson did so and was glad he had. It felt good to be home, have a real shower and cook. He played games with Kenny and suggested that they open the Christmas presents. His six-year-old flatly refused, stating that he wasn't going to open his presents until Greg could be there with them.

House was stable enough to undergo surgery on his legs; afterwards the surgeon came by to assure Wilson that everything went well and he didn't expect any major complications.

From that point on Wilson went back to work in the mornings while Kenny stayed with the sitter, did everything he absolutely needed to do himself, and delegated the rest, all with Cuddy's full approval and encouragement. The afternoons he spent at House's bedside. In the evenings he went home to be with Kenny; he found his time with his son vital to maintaining his own sanity.

On January nineteenth, two-thousand and eleven, Gregory House woke up.

Wilson and Kenny were at home when it happened. The oncologist was reading the boy a bedtime story when the call came from the hospital. Wilson had never gotten himself and Kenny bundled up and out the door as quickly as he did then. When they arrived at the hospital they headed straight for House's room. The nurses smiled warmly at them, waving them in.

The moment they reached his room both Wilson and Kenny broke out in great big grins. Not only was House awake, but he was sitting up, no longer intubated, and staring at them alertly, a smile growing on his face. Dr. Eric Foreman was in the room with him after running a neurological examination on him.

"I can't explain it," he told Wilson with a shrug, "but there doesn't appear to be any neurological deficits. Further testing will be done but I think he lucked out—again." He left to give the family time alone.

Kenny released his hold on Wilson's hand and ran for the bed.

"Kenny!" Wilson said quickly, "be careful not to hurt Greg!"

House rolled his eyes and that simple act reassured Wilson that his husband was back.

"Climb up here," the diagnostician told his son hoarsely, his cerulean blue eyes sparkling, "but be careful of the tubes and wires."

The six-year-old carefully climbed onto the bed, picking through the lead wires and IV lines to get to him. "Is it okay to hug you?" he asked House cautiously. "I don't want to hurt you."

House gave Kenny a small, genuine smile and answered him by pulling him into an embrace.

"I love you," Kenny whispered to him.

With a nod, House squeezed even tighter, not wanting to let go. "I love you too, kid," he murmured softly enough that Wilson barely heard it.

"Okay, it's my turn now," Wilson told them, unable to wait any longer. Kenny pulled away and sat back, giving the oncologist room to get close and hug his husband. House was more than willing to return it.

"You scared the shit out of me, you limping twirp!" Wilson whispered into his ear, feeling himself choking up with relief and joy. "Don't you dare do that again!" He kissed the older man's ear.

"Aw, James," House responded, "You can be such a chick sometimes."

Wilson pulled away and saw the gleam in his husband's eye that told him that he was glad to see the younger man two. Wilson kissed him tenderly on the mouth, lingering until Kenny spoke up.

"Okay, okay, enough already! All you two do is smooch." Kenny earned a couple of grins for that. The boy said to House, "I knew you would be fine, Greg. Grandpa John told me."

House frown in confusion, looking at Wilson for an explanation but he simply shrugged. "Ask your son," Wilson told him.

"What do you mean when you said Grandpa John told you that I was going to be fine?" the diagnostician asked him. "He died, Kenny. You never knew him."

"He came to me," Kenny answered as if having a dead person appear to you and tell you the future happened every day. "I was sleeping and he came up to me and poked me on the shoulder until I woke up. I sat up and Dr. Hadley asked me if I was okay but I couldn't answer her 'cause Grandpa John was talking to me at the same time and he was louder than her—and meaner, too."

"That sounds like dear old Dad," House remarked only to be given an annoyed look from his son for interrupting his story. "Sorry, go on."

Kenny sighed and said, "He told me to wake up and stop being lazy. He had white hair and blue eyes and he looked angry. He didn't look like you, though. Anyway, he told me that it wasn't your time to die and that you would wake up and be fine. He told me my mission was to keep telling James that. I asked him how he knew that you were going to be okay and he told me that I asked too many questions. Then he said that God told him what would happen. I told him that you don't believe in God. He said that you were a kind of heathen but I can't say what kind because they were swear words. I told him that you weren't a heathen, you were an atheist. Grandpa John told me that those are the worst kind. I told him that I would have to wait to see if he was right and then he went away. He kinda looked like an angel because he was dressed in white and glowed a little but he told me he wasn't an angel. I figured he was right because he didn't have any wings or a halo."

"That's because his halo was stuck up his—"

"Greg!" Wilson cut him off warningly.

"Party pooper," House muttered, causing Kenny to giggle. The diagnostician couldn't get over how his son's description of John was so accurate, right down to the way that the old bastard used to talk. Of course, it had to have been a dream; there were no such things as ghosts; Kenny's subconscious probably had recalled an image of House's dad from a picture his mother had shown the boy. That was the only sane, logical explanation. Still, it was kind of cool.

"Kenny, I need you to do something for me," House told him. "I need you to go to the nurses' station and tell the ugly fat one to get off her bum and bring me my ice chips already, okay?"

"Kenny will do no such thing," Wilson told his husband disapprovingly. "He will go and politely ask the nice nurse in the pretty scrubs for your ice chips. You are not to be mean or rude to her, okay Kenny?"

Sighing in disappointment the boy began to climb down from the bed. "Okay, I'll be nice. But Greg is right—she _is_ fat."

"That may be true but it would be rude to tell her that so you won't," Wilson instructed. The boy shrugged and left the room.

"You're turning him into a ninny," House said once Kenny was gone.

"No," Wilson countered, "I'm teaching him how to conduct himself properly when around other people and you're not helping."

"Fine," House pouted, "I'll just go back to my coma and stop being a bad influence."

Wilson grasped House's hand suddenly, making the older man wince slightly. "Don't even joke about that! It's not funny. You were given a thirty percent chance of surviving, much less surviving without serious neurological deficits. I nearly went out of my mind…" His voice trailed off as he involuntarily replayed those first few days in his mind.

"I'm sorry," House told him somberly. "When I saw that cube truck coming up on my tail way too quickly, I didn't think I was going to make it out of that alive."

Wilson lifted an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you even remember that. You have no memory impairment at all?"

"I don't think so," House answered, "but if I did chances are I wouldn't know it."

"How's the pain?" Wilson asked, lowering the side rail and moving to sit close to him on the edge of the bed. He caressed House's face.

"I'm not feeling anything," House replied, "thanks to the constant drip of morphine."

"There was no other way to control the kind of pain you would be experiencing without the opiates," Wilson regretfully informed him. "Once you're healed up and the pain is under control we can worry about detoxing you again—and a little more gently than the first time."

Nodding, House assured him, "I know." He yawned, his eyes growing heavy. Their short visit had nearly maxed out all of the energy he'd had and he was quickly fading. "I love you, Jimmy."

Wilson leaned towards him and kissed him again. House eagerly responded in spite of his weakness and fatigue. When they parted the oncologist whispered, "I know. I was afraid I had lost you and I had no idea how I was going to be able to carry on without you. I'm glad I didn't have to find out."

"You would have done it," House told him drowsily. "You have Kenny to care for. Both of you would have turned out alright."

"We would have survived," Wilson agreed, "but a huge hole would have been left in our lives."

"Quit being sappy and give me some tongue before I fall asleep," the diagnostician muttered.

**~H/W~**

The next day Wilson and Kenny brought the Christmas gifts to the hospital and opened them with Greg. One of Kenny's gifts was an Xbox 360 and a few games to go with it. House had received two tickets to a monster truck show…in Florida. Wilson announced that they were going to Orlando during Spring Break to spend some time having fun as a family and House could take Kenny to see the show with him. Kenny, who'd been in on the surprise, gave House a pair of cool shades to wear while down there. House's gift to Wilson was also tickets—to the Metropolitan Opera and three Broadway shows he planned on attending with him. It truly was a sacrificial gift since House hated the opera and didn't like Broadway musicals any better but he knew his husband did and was willing to suffer through them to make Wilson happy—and more likely to get down and dirty afterward (he didn't mention that part in front of Kenny though).

After the presents were opened Wilson scrounged the hospital and found a TV no one was currently using. He absconded with it and snuck it into House's room so they could play with Kenny's Xbox for a while before they needed to leave to allow the diagnostician left.

Before they did, Kenny gave House another hug and kiss on his scruffy cheek, then did the same with Wilson.

"What was that for?" House asked him.

Kenny smiled. "For giving me the bestest present ever."

"And what's that?" Wilson asked, exchanging glances with House.

Cocking his head and grinning the boy replied, "Two kick-ass dads!"


End file.
